Randi hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. “I agree. Mauritania’s gone to a lot more trouble than usual to cover his tracks, even to using another terrorist group as a cover, and now we know he has both the molecular computer and Chambord. The threat is too enormous to hold back, no matter what Langley or the army thinks.”
Peter’s careful eyes became less closed. He gave a short nod. “Right, cooperation it is. Bugger Whitehall and Washington.”
“Good,” Jon said. “Now, Peter, why were you really talking to General Henze?”
“It wasn’t Henze, it was Jerry Matthias.”
“The general’s master sergeant?” Jon was surprised.
Peter nodded. “He used to be special forces. We met in the Iraqi desert some years back, and I wanted to see what I could pump out of him.”
“About what?”
“Some odd shenanigans at NATO.”
“What ‘shenanigans’?” Randi demanded. “You’re being difficult again.”
Peter sighed. “Sorry, old habit. All right, I uncovered a phone call to Elizondo Ibarguengoitia from inside NATO. When I traced the number, it was from a maintenance office that had supposedly been locked at the time.”
Randi was shocked. “The Black Flame, or Crescent Shield, has a spy inside NATO?”
“That’d be one answer,” Peter agreed.
“Or someone at NATO,” Jon speculated, “was, or is, working with the Black Flame or Crescent Shield to get the molecular computer.”
“That’d be another answer,” Peter agreed. “Sergeant Matthias is a former Green Beret and now the majordomo for your General Henze. I’d hoped he’d kept his eyes open from old habit. Unfortunately, he’d seen nothing especially suspicious. Still, the Black Flame was a live lead, so that’s when I left to go after them in Toledo.”
“I’ll bet the Black Flame’s no longer a live lead,” Randi said. “Anyone want to give me odds their leadership’s dead?”
“I don’t like to bet against a sure thing,” Peter said. “The Mauritaniahellip;Smart bloke like that, he’s figured out how you found him, Jon. With luck, he doesn’t know about me.”
“The Black Flame is a cover that went bad,” Jon agreed. “Mauritania would’ve kept them in the dark, knowing they could turn on him, extort him, interfere in any number of ways with his plans. What he didn’t figure on was that they’d lead someone like me to him. He’s got to have killed them by now, and not just for retribution but to make sure they can’t hurt him anymore.”
As he thought that, Jon’s mind returned to Marty. He realized that the better part of a day had passed since he had checked on him. The welfare of his oldest friend preyed upon his mind, and he pulled out his cell phone.
Randi looked across at him. “Who’re you calling?”
“The hospital. Maybe Marty’s awake.”
Peter gave a curt nod of agreement. “With, one hopes, an earful to tell us that will help with the daunting task of relocating Mauritania and his Crescent Shield.”
But the word from the Pompidou Hospital was not what Jon had hoped: little change in Marty’s condition. They continued to be hopeful, but Dr. Zellerbach’s progress had not accelerated.
Chapter Seventeen
Gibraltar
Disturbed, Lieutenant General Sir Arnold Moore sat alone in the backseat of the Royal Air Force station commander’s staff car and pondered the secret meeting in the conference room aboard the Charles de Gaulle that he had just left. What was going on? Why had his old ally and friend Roland la Porte really assembled them? As the bright lights of planes landing and taking off from the crown colony’s airport streaked past, he stared ahead unseeing, worriedly analyzing the evening’s discussion. Ultimately, it all ended up on the shoulders of General La Porte.
Everyone recognized that the French had a strong nostalgia for past glory, but everyone also knew that they were a practical lot, and that, at La Porte’s lofty government level at least, la gloire was something of a joke. Although La Porte, both privately and as NATO’s second in command, favored the combined European Rapid Reaction Force, Sir Arnold had always believed it was for rational reasonshellip;that it would ease the pressure on NATO, which depended so heavily on the United States when intervening in disagreements small and large around the planet. In fact, La Porte was known to emphasize that reasoning with Washington.
But now the French general had shifted to overt anti-Americanism. Or had he? Was the European integrated military that he proposed simply a logical extension of his desire to relieve Americans of the burden to do most of the job? Sir Arnold fervently hoped so, because the other justification could be the first salvo in a dangerous vision of Europe as a secondand rivalsuperpower to the Americans in this new, post-Cold War, terrorist-filled world. It was never wise to divide one’s fronts, which both Hitler and Napoleon had learned to their chagrin. Now, more than ever, it seemed to Sir Arnold that the civilized world must stand united.
Despite the anti-American rhetoric, Sir Arnold would certainly have accepted the former view had it not been for what appeared to have been La Porte’s fleeting suggestion that America could soon face an electronic-attack that would shut down all its command and communication controls. Of coursehorrifyinglythat would make the U.S. military helpless, as well as any European force that depended on it.
Taken together with the scattered electronic crashes in those secret systems that were already occurringwhich Sir Arnold should have been the only one there to know abouthe was more than startled. He was deeply alarmed.
Had La Porte learned about them, too? If so, how was that possible?
Sir Arnold had the information only because President Castilla had personally informed the prime minister, explaining that the U.K. was the only ally he was alerting, while the only NATO official he was telling was its supreme European commander, General Henze.
So how had French General La Porte learned of the terrifying electronic attacks?
Sir Arnold dug his knuckles into his forehead. He had a dreadful headache, and he knew the cause: He was worried that La Porte was somehow connected to whoever was causing the electronic crashes, and that was why and how he had the information.
The British general could barely consider the possibility. The whole thing was unthinkable, preposterous, and yet he could not ignore the logic of it. He could not escape his worried conclusions about La Porte. He must not speak of them to anyone but the PM himself. And it must be in person.
This kind of speculation, which might be wrong but would still tarnish a good man’s reputation, could be trusted to not just anyone. Which was why he sat alone in the backseat of the dark command car, waiting for his personal driver and pilot to oversee the servicing and refueling of the Tornado F3 jet that would speed them to London.
As he waited, he continued to mull the entire bizarre meeting. Had he been mistaken? Was he overreacting? But every time he raised those questions, he was more convinced: He was worried about what La Porte’s hints implied, and the ghastly danger they suggested.
He was rehearsing the words he would use to communicate these conclusions to the PM when Stebbins tapped on the closed car window. He opened the door.
Sir Arnold looked up. “We ready, George?”
“Sir!” Staff Sergeant George Stebbins inclined his head to signal the affirmative.
“A simple yes would do nicely, George. You’re not a company sergeant major in the Grenadiers now, you know.” He climbed out of the car, briefcase in hand.
“Nossir. Thank you, sir.”
Sir Arnold sighed and shook his head. You could get the man out of the guards, but you could almost never get the guards out of the man. “You think, former Sergeant Major Stebbins, that when your warrant is final, you could forget the household brigade, just a little?”
Stebbins finally smiled. “S’pose I could try, sir.”
Sir Arnold chuckled. “All right, Stebbins. I appreciate a straight answer and an honest effort. So what do you say to our finding out if you remember how to fly that thing out there?”
They entered the station ready room to put on their insulated suits and helmets for the high-level flight, and twenty minutes later, Stebbins, in the pilot’s seat, was taxiing the sleek jet across the dark airfield to the runway. In the navigator’s seat directly behind Stebbins sat Sir Arnold, who continued to rehearse the shocking news that he must deliver to the PM, certainly to the defense minister as well, and probably to old Colin Campbell, who was commander in chief now.
The supersonic Tornado took off and soon left behind Gibraltar, the southernmost point of Europe. It streaked high through the sky, far above the clouds. The dramatic panorama of stars against the black velvet sky always made Sir Arnold choke up, because he believed in God. Surely no other force could have created such beauty. He was alternately thinking about that and worrying what General La Porte was up to when, out of hearing of anyone on earth, the aircraft exploded in a massive burst of flame. From below, the fireball looked simply like another shooting star.